


Real

by grey853



Series: Real [1]
Category: X-Files - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/grey853
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinner visits Mulder after the Bowman case and makes a confession as well as an invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

Fandom: X-Files  
Title: Real  
Author: Grey  
Rating: PG-13 for language  
Keywords: M/Sk slash, Mulderangst 

Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me. 

Spoilers: "Pusher", "Kitsunegari" 

Summary: Skinner visits Mulder after the Bowman case and makes a confession as well as an invitation. This is the first story in the "Real" series. 

Archive: Yes as long as the author's name and warnings are attached. 

* * *

**Real**  
by Grey  
[Grey853@aol.com](mailto:Grey853@aol.com?subject=Real)

* * *

Tequila burned Mulder's throat, scorching a heated trail to his stomach, a stomach already primed from earlier generous portions. Lifting the empty glass, he held it to the glaring light of the aquarium, the refraction through the thin edges a prism to his skewed vision. Spiking pains in his temples dulled only slightly by the filter of alcohol stabbed harder with the unexpected knock at the door. Stilled, his body like dead weight, he waited as the pounding grew more insistent. 

"Mulder?" A gruff familiar voice muffled both through drink and solid wood forced him to struggle to his feet to finally respond. 

Unlocking and opening the door only a fraction, he shook his head as he spoke. "What are you doing here, sir?" 

Dark brown eyes stared right at him, but he looked away, unable and unwilling to hold the gaze. "You've been drinking." 

"I'm off duty, sir. I'm unarmed, so don't worry. Frankly, I'd rather you just went away. I'm not in the mood to chat about how well I handled almost shooting my partner." 

"Shut up, Mulder, and just let me in." 

Too tired to fight, he shrugged and moved out of the way as his boss entered the room. The long coat shifted on his broad form like a ghostly wave, the cool air in motion around the shimmering grey. "Why is it always so damn dark in this place?" 

"I like the dark." 

"Why?" 

"Easier to handle the shadows." 

"What?" 

Closing and locking the door behind him, he stepped past the solid body and sat back down on the couch. Still avoiding making eye contact, he reached for his glass and poured another drink. The darkness within him swirled and swallowed deep, his personal scars puckering scratchy edges to foggy thoughts. "Nothing. What do you want?" 

"We need to talk." 

"About?" 

"About what's bothering you." 

Snorting to himself, he sniffed the liquor as he spoke softly to the air. "And you think you know what that is?" 

Skinner sat down in the chair opposite him, his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. "Mulder, I know you're upset about almost shooting Scully, but it wasn't your fault." 

"Yeah, I know. Linda Bowman mindfucked me just like her brother did. God, my brain feels like a whore, too fucking easy and too damn cheap, you know?" The words bumped together, awkward and hoarse on a lazy tongue. 

"It's not like that." 

"Sure it is. You were right to take my gun, not that it did much good. It still didn't protect Scully." Glancing up, he took in the concern, the intense look that tightened his gut with more than just guilt. "Maybe you should've locked me up this time, sir. Maybe that's going to be the only way to keep anybody safe." 

"What the hell are you talking about, Mulder?" 

"These people can make me see things, think things are real, and I can't do a fucking thing to stop it. I mean, I saw Scully die for christsakes. I saw Scully as Linda Bowman holding the gun on me. And I would've shot her, too, if she hadn't been quick enough to shoot the bitch first." 

"Bowman was focused on you, not Scully. You could both be dead." 

"But how am I supposed to know what's real, when I can't even trust my own eyes? How am I supposed to do my job?" The last few words pushed hard through the restricted throat, the words drying on the air like pale drifting dust between them. 

"You think you're the only one having trouble here, Mulder? Feeling a bit sorry for yourself?" 

"Don't I have a right?" 

"Well, yeah, but don't keep the whole shitload for yourself. You're not the only one who's had his head screwed. Bowman played me for a fool, too. And her brother made me see a gun that wasn't even there. No, you're not the only one who got his mind fucked." The husky voice lowered, the words embarrassingly soft. "I have to admit, I don't like losing control." 

"No newsflash there, sir." 

"I'm just saying I understand what it's like." 

The incredible trusting force behind the admission hit him. Mulder glanced up, his eyes locked, his returned words hushed on nearly numb lips. "It's hard to know what's real sometimes." 

"I know." A slow nod came before the whisper. "I killed a man though. And that's real." 

"Modell was already a dead man, sir. He should've died a long time ago." 

"The fact remains that I was the one who shot him when he didn't even have a gun." 

"Yeah, well, I know that feeling, too. Shot the unarmed bastard in the head and it still didn't kill his sorry ass." 

"Shit." Walter shook his head and smiled. "You can do this self-pity thing pretty well." 

"I'm not sitting here alone, Walter." 

Pulling back just a little with the use of his first name, the older man nodded, his face still tight and uneasy. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you when you tried to warn me. I should've trusted you." 

"Why? Nobody else does. Besides, I can't even trust myself." 

"You did before Bowman pushed you." 

"Yeah, for all the good it did." 

"You're too hard on yourself. Scully doesn't blame you." 

"She never does." 

"She's a smart woman." 

"Yeah, but she's too damn easy when it comes to forgiving major Mulder fuckups. Too much goddamn practice." 

The rippling and buzz of the fish tank filled in the quiet spaces. "So, you want a drink or something, sir?" 

"Sure. Got anything besides that shit you're drinking? A beer or some decent whiskey?" 

"Beer's in the fridge. I'd get it, but my legs seem to be on strike." 

"Being drunk will do that." 

"Yeah." 

"It's understandable, but it worries me." 

Mulder's vision cleared slightly at the tone, his eyes focusing on the slanted look aimed in his direction. "Yeah? Why's that?" 

"Your father." 

His back stiffened, the cool lick of truth painful. He weighed and held his response as Walter traveled to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of Beck's. Licking his lips, Mulder found the his tongue stubborn, laboring and slurring the words. "What about my father?" 

"We both know what I mean, Mulder. We don't have to dance." 

"Must be the booze then, because you're not making any sense." 

"Your father had a problem. We both know that. It's not like it's a state secret. I just worry about you sometimes. Don't want you to follow the same path." 

"With all due respect, sir, fuck you. You don't know shit about my father." 

"I know more than you think, Mulder. Now, don't get defensive. I didn't come here to fight." 

The calmness of the voice flattened his anger, the lick of genetics at his bones too strong sometimes to resist the flicker of unwanted recognition. Shifting uncomfortably under the straight gaze, the younger man sat up and rubbed his hands on his knees. "So, why exactly did you come here? I thought you said everything you wanted to say in your office." 

After a long pull on the bottle, Walter put it down and stood to take off his coat and jacket. Putting them on the back of the chair, he sat back down and got comfortable before speaking. Mulder couldn't help but notice the tight stretch of white cloth across those broad shoulders. The grey flannel pants fit perfectly across his backside, muscular and tight, the center seam dented along the inviting curve of his ass. Shit. 

Suddenly nervous, he licked his lips as the strong voice brought his focus back to the conversation. 

"You worry me, Mulder. More now than ever. I know you're a mess with this Pusher thing. Didn't do my head any good either, and I only got a little taste of what it's like not to be able to trust what you see. I can't imagine what it must have been like for you to see Scully dead, not when I know how you feel about your partner." 

"And how's that?" 

"She's your partner. You love her." 

"You think I love her?" 

"Don't you?" 

"Well, yeah, but not like what you think." 

"How do you know what I think? I'm not saying you're in love with her." 

"Good, because that would fuck up a partnership real fast." 

"Yeah." Reaching over, Walter picked up the beer again and drank while he watched, his hand steady, his eyes never wandering far from Mulder's face. "So, you think sitting in the dark, drinking yourself into a stupor's going to give you any perspective on what's real?" 

"No, but once I pass out, it doesn't really matter." 

"It matters to me. It matters to Scully. She's worried about you, too." 

Clearing his throat, suddenly more alert, he asked quietly, "Did she say that?" 

"She doesn't have to. I watch her watching you and I see the fear." 

"The fear?" 

"Mulder, she watched you put a gun to your head with Modell. Then she saw this thing with Bowman, what it did to you in the warehouse, what it's doing to you now. It's not easy to watch someone you care about sit so close to the edge without being afraid." 

His voice clutched, his tongue working against him as he tried to speak without losing the words. "I'd never do that." 

"No?" 

"No, not without a really good reason." 

"Jesus, Mulder. Listen to yourself. What the hell would be a good enough reason to put a bullet in your brain?" 

"If I'd killed her, or someone else I cared about." The extended quiet brought his head up, the dark eyes behind the glasses just wide and watching. "Well?" 

"Well, what? What am I supposed to say to that? Do you think I don't understand despair? Do you think I don't have a clue about where your head's at right now? I do, Mulder. You think you're the only goddamn man in the world to want to end it all after a major fuck up? Do you?" The slow rising of energy burned the words like flashes against the dark air. 

"No." 

"Good, because you're not. I've been in some pretty deep fucking holes myself, but I've never given up and I don't expect you to. You're stronger than that, even though you don't seem to realize it." He took a deep controlling breath before he hissed, "Damn it, you piss me off sometimes. You can be such a dumbfuck." 

Nodding, uneasy with the blast of passion behind the words, Mulder shrugged slightly. "So, is this the peppy version of what you tried to say in the office, sir?" 

"You think what I'm saying's a joke?" Head tilted, Walter stared, his mouth a tight line words pushed through. 

"No, not at all. I just don't think I deserve them. I failed with Modell and his sister." 

"So, you don't trust my judgment?" 

"I didn't say that." 

"That's what I heard." 

"Shit. Would you just fucking stop." Mulder stood up, his balance tricky, and went to the window, his arm braced against the wall. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but you should go." 

Staying seated, Walter shifted, his body tense as he spoke slowly, his words still even. "What is it you think I'm trying to do?" 

"I'm not sure. I guess because you're my boss, you think you need to make sure you can trust me or make sure I'm okay at trusting myself. The thing is, I'm not sure you can. I'm not really sure of anything right now except that I shouldn't have had those last few drinks." 

"Or the first one probably." 

"Probably." 

"You going to be sick?" 

"Not yet." Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head, the room on slow spin. "Shit. Maybe you should leave before I really make a fool of myself." 

"I've got a better idea. I'll make some coffee while you go to the bathroom." When he didn't move, Walter stood and walked to stand beside him, his breath beer-scented and rich. "Go on. I'm not ready to leave yet and I don't feel like cleaning up second hand Tequila." 

"God, even in my own apartment you're still bossing me around." 

"And your point?" 

"No point. Just an observation." He brushed by, his shoulder touching the heated chest, the arousal stirring through him. Just being so close to the larger man swayed him, made him even more dizzy. A strong hand grabbed his arm and led him to the hall and then let him go, the touch a lingering brand into his dulled skin. 

Closing the door, his head resting on the inside wood, he groaned at the ache between his legs and whispered, "Shit. Not now. God, what a mess." 

Sagging back, he caught himself on the sink and then settled himself on the toilet, his head bowed and shaking. After a few moments, the vertigo and swirling eased. Kneeling, he swallowed hard and forced fingers down his throat, the gagging bringing the burn in a rush. After several rounds of retching, he did it again until he knew nothing else would come up. 

Standing unsteadily, he turned on the cold water and splashed his face, rinsing his mouth out at the same time. In the mirror the dark circles bruising his eyes haunted him, nagged him with the same look he'd worn right after Scully left him the last time. God, he hated that face, that fear and cowardice staring back at him. Quickly he brushed his teeth, the hard bristles a reminder that he wasn't quite as numb as before. Spitting one more time, he wiped off, straightened up, and promptly squeezed his eyes shut against the explosion of pain on changing position. After a few more moments, the throb settled to a more steady beat. Taking a few deep breaths, he opened the door and found the floor light on as Skinner sat in his chair, a coffee mug in his hand. 

"God, you look like shit, Mulder." 

"Thanks." 

"But at least you don't look ready to pass out anymore." 

"Can't afford that. Have to find out if you're real or not." 

Walter scrunched his face, his eyes puzzled. "What the hell are you talking about now?" 

"I mean, as far as I know, you might be another mindfuck or something, right?" 

Walter smiled and shook his head, his face suddenly more relaxed. "Mulder, why do you always make everything so fucking hard for yourself?" 

Sagging down on the sofa, Mulder leaned over and took the mug already waiting for him. After a sip, he grimaced. "A little stronger and I think we've got a new rocket fuel here." 

"Just drink it. If that doesn't jar you into a reality check, nothing much will." 

The bitter heat settled in a quiver at first, his abused stomach queasy, but he held it down. After a few more moments, he still didn't look up. "I'm okay, sir. You don't have to stay." 

"If you don't stop asking me to leave, I'm going to start taking it personally." 

"I don't mean it that way. It's just..." 

"Just what?" 

"I don't know why you're really here." 

"I thought you might need me to be." 

The solid tone brought his head up, his eyes squinting in the unwanted light. "And why would you think that?" 

Staring, and then glancing away, Walter put the coffee down and leaned forward, his voice a rough hush. "Mulder, when you left my office, you were still, I don't know, too upset. I was worried about how you were reacting." 

"But why come here tonight? I mean, you've made a few house calls in the past, but this feels different. What's going on?" 

"I'd like to think I'm more than a boss, maybe even a friend. You just looked like you were in trouble. Bottom line, I guess I was just worried you'd do something, impulsive." 

"Like aim a gun at my head, right? And you came to the rescue? AD Skinner without the cape?" 

Sitting back, he adjusted his glasses, his face uneasy and flushed. "So, I screwed up. I should've figured you'd want to wallow on your own with this for awhile. I don't know what the hell I was thinking anyway." The anger brought him to his feet abruptly, his control gone and a hand already on his coat before Mulder could speak up. "Mulder, always the self-sufficient bastard. Fuck this." 

His tongue ached, the weight of wanting almost too heavy to lift. "Wait." 

"Why bother?" 

"Because you didn't screw up, Walter. I did. I'm sorry." 

"About what?" 

"About not recognizing a friend? About being too paranoid to believe what's right before me?" 

"And what's that?" 

"Somebody to trust." 

"And do you trust me, Mulder? I mean really trust me?" 

"Yeah, well, mostly. I mean, don't ask for an oath or anything yet, okay? I'm still a little shaky here." 

Nodding, suddenly relaxing, Skinner stood for a moment longer before he smiled. "Okay. So, why don't I order us some Chinese? You like beef or chicken?" 

"Surprise me." 

"Oh, I think I can manage that. No problem." 

Mulder, still puzzled and unsettled at his own need to keep his boss with him a bit longer, brought a hand to his mouth, rubbed his waking lips before he muttered, "You've got that right." 

88888

Mulder nodded, his sated smile covered with ginger sauce, his lips spiced and slick. "That was really good." 

"Yeah, it was." Walter leaned back in his chair, his hand rubbing over his stomach. "Cho's has the best food this side of town. I don't get to order much anymore since I moved. I miss it sometimes." 

"I can see why." Wiping off his mouth and putting the napkin on the table, Mulder took a deep drink of water, suddenly nervous. "So, how is it living alone now? I mean, it's been awhile since you and your wife divorced, but it's got to be an adjustment after being married for all that time." 

He watched Walter's eyes darken, the decision flicker and then settle before he spoke. "You've never asked me about Sharon before. Why now?" 

"I don't know. I guess I just wondered who you talk to since you're single again." 

Nodding, Walter stood up, closing the containers before he threw them away. The quiet only lasted a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. He kept his back to Mulder as he spoke, his voice deep and very calming. "I never really talked to Sharon, not really, not about the job anyway. Sometimes I'd talked about you, but not much else." 

"Me?" 

"It's funny thinking about it now. I guess I didn't even realize how much I'd shut her out. I thought I was protecting her, didn't want her to know the horrors of what we have to do. I really wanted to save her from that. The thing is, that's not what she wanted. She accused me of locking her out of my life, and in a lot of ways she was right. I loved her, Mulder, but not the way she needed." 

"Of course, you loved her, Walter. You wouldn't have stayed with her for seventeen years if you hadn't." 

"But it wasn't enough. Never could be really." 

"And why was that?" 

Shaking his head, his eyes focused on a world not in the room, Walter turned and leaned back on the counter. "I'm not sure. It's odd though. I do remember how really pissed she got one night." 

"About what?" 

"About me talking about you." 

"Me?" 

"It was right after Scully disappeared. I was worried, I mean really worried, Mulder." His dark eyes lifted and caught the younger man's. "You were so lost it hurt just to look at you, to be near you knowing there wasn't a damn thing I could do. You pushed me away at every turn." 

He twisted in his chair, uneasy with both the memories and the harsh truth wrapped in the words. "So, why did she get so pissed that night?" 

"She called me obsessed." 

"About me?" 

"Yeah. Crazy, huh?" 

"Why would she say that?" 

Walter stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as he spoke, his face suddenly more guarded. "Like I said, I never talked about my work, but somehow every now and then at a weak moment, you slipped out. Later, when she calmed down, she told me she was jealous." 

The grip at his chest tightened, the hope like claws grasping his heart. "Jealous? Why?" 

Hesitating, Walter shook his head. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way." 

"What way would that be? Are you saying she thought you had feelings for me, inappropriate feelings?" 

"Well, if caring for a man you work with is inappropriate, yeah, you could say she thought that." 

"Caring how?" 

Standing a little straighter, his arms moving up to wrap his chest, he looked away. "Mulder, don't make me say this." 

"Why not? What is it exactly that you're trying not to say? 

"Look, it's late. Now that you're pretty much sober, maybe I should just leave." 

Panic flooded his skin, an icy layer of cold sweat. He braced one hand on the table, the other on the back of the chair as he faced the man still standing there, just waiting. "You can't leave, Walter. Not yet. You can't just say shit like that and not expect me to want to know what the hell you're really saying. Don't you think I have enough problems without you coming in here teasing me?" 

"Teasing you?" 

"You say you care, that your wife was jealous. What the fuck am I supposed to think when you say shit like that?" 

"I don't know." 

"Yes, you do. So say it." The demand strengthened as he repeated himself. "Say it, Walter." 

Face darkened by both new purpose and the tight stretch of the moment, Walter nodded. "Okay. I care more than I should. I'm your boss, we're both men, and I have dreams about you." 

"Dreams? What kind of dreams?" 

"Dreams I have no right to have." 

"Come on, Walter, tell me. Be honest with me. I need to hear this." 

Clenching his jaw, a wary smile twisted his face. "Well, let's say, there were a lot of reasons for Sharon to be jealous other than my talking about your work. You're a handsome man, Mulder." 

"Damn." Leaning back, the flush burning his skin, the younger man shook his head in amazement. "Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this is?" 

"Yeah, I do, which is why it took so damn long to say it." 

"I don't fucking believe this. All this time and you never said a thing, not a fucking thing." 

"You sound angry." 

"I'm not angry. Just not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do here." 

"Try telling me to get the hell out. You've got every right. I'm over the line and we both know it." Running a hand back across the top of his scalp, Walter leaned his head back staring at the ceiling. Rubbing his neck, he sighed the words in a frustrated hush. "God, I can't believe I fucked this up so badly." 

Standing slowly, Mulder stepped closer, his body moving to lean just a few inches from the larger man. "You haven't fucked up." 

Bringing his face forward again, dark eyes met Mulder's searching gaze. "Then you're okay with this?" 

"Depends on what _this_ is?" 

A wide right palm came up and fanned across his heart while the other stroked gently across his whiskered cheek, the touch tender and yet startling. "I think you know what _this_ is, Mulder. Has it been that long?" 

As his heart raced too fast and his breath caught just short of his lungs, he whispered, "Actually it has, yeah. God, I can't believe this." 

Lips captured his, a tongue tracing lightly and then pushing harder between them, the tang of Chinese spices strong and burning. A muscular arm slid to the small of his back, his groin pulled in against Walter's, the swell of his cock meeting another. Moans swallowed, Walter turned him and leaned him back against the counter, the heavy weight slowing his own shove against the solid frame. Sucking harder on the eager tongue, his legs shifted apart, his partner standing between them, the hard bulge rubbed more rhythmically against his own. 

Suddenly, movement slowed as Walter pulled back, his face just inches away, his voice breathy. "We need to stop." 

"Let me get my gun first." 

"What?" 

"You stop now, I'm going to have to shoot you, you bastard." 

The throaty chuckle tickled his ears. Leaning in, the kiss came lightly, Mulder's whimper a surrender. 

Releasing him, Walter stepped away, his hand still on his waist. "We need to stop." 

Grabbing the arm, Mulder's throat tightened, the air like dusty ash and his lungs absolute failures at breathing. "God, you can't be serious." 

The gentle caress to his cheek, the slightest pressure silenced him. "Mulder, I came here because I was worried. I swear, I didn't mean to do this, not now, not when you're this vulnerable. It's just that, well, sometimes you're not the only one who needs to figure out what's real." 

Starving, Mulder captured the hand, soaking in the contact. "You feel real now." 

"I know what's real. You are, and my feelings are, but what I don't know is what you feel." 

Suddenly nervous, Mulder pulled away. Walking to the center of the living room, Mulder stood there, arms holding in his heaving gut. "What? You want some kind of commitment right this minute?" 

"Don't get upset." 

"I can't help it. You come in here, say these things, and then you just pull away. What am I supposed to think?" 

"I love you, Mulder. I've known that for a long time." 

Stunned, the word like an alien curse, he shook his head in disbelief. "Love me?" 

"Yeah. But I need to know how you feel before I can act on it. I'm not going to do anything that could hurt you." 

"Too late, you son of a bitch." 

"I'm sorry." 

In a voice too small for the man, the words too stretched with both hurt and fear, he whispered, "I don't know what I feel, Walter. I don't know what's real between us." 

"I know that." Walter stepped closer, not touching, but near. "And until you do, until you decide what you want, this can't happen." 

"Fuck you then. You're just going to leave?" The anger welled up, the rush tightening his throat into wildfire. 

Calm eyes watched, never wavering. "I want you to think about it, and when you're ready, and I mean really ready, you come to me. You've got the address." He picked up his coat and jacket, his arms sliding into the sleeves, precision in action. 

"I don't fucking believe you." 

"I know. And that's the problem. Goodnight, Mulder." Hand on the door knob, Walter turned one last time before leaving. "I'm real, Mulder. When you know that for sure, you know where to find me." 

"Don't do this, Walter." 

"Ring the bell or knock and I'll hear you. I'll be home all weekend. Figure it out." 

And then he was gone, door closed, the footsteps moving heavily down the hall carrying the truth like a fragile prize. 

Standing stock still, eyes squeezed shut, Mulder swallowed hard. Each word pounded a slow strike as he shook inside his own skin. "Jesus, I'm seriously fucked." 

* * *

The End


End file.
